


one day

by zhuzhubi



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Dad Spencer Reid, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Pregnancy, Spencer Reid as a dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:27:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27295639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zhuzhubi/pseuds/zhuzhubi
Summary: It’s easy to fall into thinking 'it never happened when we were putting all that effort into conceiving, why would it suddenly happen now?' It’s easy to ‘forget’ to track your menstrual cycle because it reminds you so much of anxiety-dread-frustration. It’s easy to just push the mere possibility out of your mind out of the lingering fear of being disappointed once again.So when you start waking up with mild nausea that lingers throughout the day, you don’t think anything of it....(or, reader finds out she’s pregnant after she and spencer have been trying for a long time)
Relationships: Spencer Reid/Original Female Character(s), Spencer Reid/Reader
Kudos: 161





	one day

**Author's Note:**

> also on tumblr @zhuzhubii

You stare down at the plastic stick in your hands, careful to keep it face down for just a little while longer. Spencer comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your middle, tucking his chin into the crook of your neck and swaying side to side in time with his deep breaths. 

“(y/n)…we don’t have to keep doing this if you don’t want to,” he mutters after a moment, sighing as he pulls you closer, his breath tickling your cheek as he turns his head to face you.

You look back at him, a flash of _fear-anger-disappointment_ running through you as your brain forcibly reminds you of every time you’ve flipped over the stick to find only a single line. The words come out before you can stop them, laced with bitterness and frustration, “Oh, so now you’re second guessing this? Now, after we’ve been trying for _two fucking years_ , you decide to just give up!? Spencer -”

“That’s not what I’m saying at all,” he interrupts, his voice nothing but calm and gentle, “That’s not what I’m saying, I…you know that I want this just as much as you do. That hasn’t changed, (y/n), not at all. I just…I can tell how much this has been weighing on you, and I think that maybe…maybe we should consider taking a break from - from all of _this_.”

You let your eyes fall back down to the little plastic stick, the one that’s become more of a source of anxiety than excitement with every month that’s ticked by with no success. “ _All of this?_ ” you ask even though you already know exactly what he’s referring to.

His eyelashes brush against your cheek as he shuts his eyes for a moment, tightening his arms around you - it’s a pressure that, coming from him, has only ever felt comforting to you. His voice is low and cracking when he replies, and it’s then that you realize - it’s not only _you_ who’s been feeling _all of this_ weighing down on you. “You know,” he says, “Tracking your cycle, having sex when neither of us is really in the mood…taking _so many_ pregnancy tests?”

And then he reaches down and opens the cabinet below the bathroom sink, revealing the boxes and boxes and boxes of various brands, ranging from sticks to strips to everything in between. It feels like looking at the evidence of your failure, even though the logical part of you knows it isn’t your fault. You don’t know what to say because…because he’s right - lately, all taking the tests has been bringing you is dread, stress, and disappointment. Dread in the lead up, stress during the wait, and what feels like _inevitable_ disappointment when you finally force yourself to check the results. 

In the end you don’t say anything at all - you just suck in a shaky breath and squeeze your eyes shut, bracing yourself as you turn the stick face up in your palms. You hear Spencer’s sharp inhale behind you and for a second you think _maybe, maybe…?_ and it gives you the confidence to open your eyes. 

The line is pink, and it’s painfully alone. The line is pink, and it feels like it’s leering up at you, laughing at you and taunting you with yet another failed attempt. You throw it down onto the tile floor and watch as the plastic shell cracks from the sheer force of your frustration.

“God _damnit!_ ” you shout, the word tearing its way out of your throat as you struggle against Spencer’s grasp - the pressure of his arms makes you feel _trapped_ for half a second instead of comforted and you sink to your knees at the realization, tears trailing down your cheeks as your chest heaves with silent sobs. 

“I think…,” you whisper after a moment, clearing your throat when your voice is barely audible, “I think that maybe…maybe you’re right.”

Spencer runs his hands up and down your arms, cradling you in between his long legs and letting you sink back into his warm chest. “It’s up to you,” he says, the vibrations from his voice rumbling across your back, “If this is what you want to do, then I’ll keep supporting that decision. You know that, right (y/n)?”

You tuck your face into his neck, your nods slight but undeniable. “Yeah, I know that Spencer,” you start, “…I-I do think you’re right, though. I can’t keep doing this - _we_ can’t keep doing this. And I don’t know if…Spencer, what happens if I-if I _never_ get pregnant? What happens then?”

He tightens his grip around you, dipping his head down to catch your eye and be absolutely sure that you’re listening to him. “What happens is that I’ll keep loving you no matter what. I love you _so much_ , and that isn’t dependent on whether or not we can have biological children, alright?”

“Alright,” you reply, a second wave of tears already building in your eyes, “Alright.”

…

You don’t throw out the extra tests after that because, well, that would just be a waste. But you do shove them all the way to the back of the cabinet and bury them behind the extra toilet paper and hand soap and shampoo bottles. Or rather, _Spencer_ does because you just can’t bring yourself to do it. 

You knew that almost obsessively trying to conceive was weighing on you both, but you don’t realize just how much until you suddenly aren’t doing it anymore. You don’t realize how much of a chore sex had become until Spencer’s taking his time kissing his way up your thighs instead of just getting to the _main event_ and finishing as quickly as possible. It feels like a huge load has been lifted off of you - and yes, it still hurts when you see babies and expectant parents and small children, but it’s much more bearable now that you’re not putting so much pressure on yourself.

Time passes and you stop worrying about it. You and Spencer are foregoing contraception and nothing more - _if it happens, it happens_ as they say. It’s no longer a big deal when Spencer is away on a case during your fertile window, or when you’re just not in the mood for sex. It’s all fine because you’re not actively trying to get pregnant anymore, you’re just not taking any precautions to prevent it. 

It’s easy to fall into thinking _it never happened when we were putting all that effort into conceiving, why would it suddenly happen now?_ It’s easy to ‘forget’ to track your menstrual cycle because it reminds you so much of _anxiety-dread-frustration._ It’s easy to just push the mere possibility out of your mind out of the lingering fear of being disappointed once again.

So when you start waking up with mild nausea that lingers throughout the day, you don’t think anything of it.

…

Penelope invites you out for breakfast one Saturday morning and you say yes because who can say no to Penelope Garcia? The team is wrapping up a case somewhere on the West Coast - according to the text Spencer sent you sometime in the night, they finally made the arrest sometime around one in the morning and decided to stay the extra night instead of rushing to finish up - and you didn’t have plans besides. 

She orders something with eggs and peppers and you don’t think anything of it as you smile at the waiter as you place your own order, asking for lemon tea alongside your meal because of the low-grade nausea that you’ve grown used to over the past few weeks. Penelope chatters on about a million different things as you wait for your meals, her train of thought jumping from track to track with that unique rainbow-filled _Garcia_ enthusiasm. You’re just leaning in to complement her hairpiece, giggling when it bounces as she moves around, when the waiter comes back with plates of food -

The smell of roasted peppers hits you in a way it never has before, making you gag as you spring to your feet and speed walk towards the bathroom, pressing the back of your hand to your mouth as you try to hold back for just a few more steps, _pleasepleaseplease -_

You don’t even have time to close the door behind you before you vomit, just barely making it to the toilet in time. Someone’s hand starts circling over your back as you dry heave, your eyes watering from the strain. Penelope’s voice echoes around you, mumbling reassurances as you take deep breaths to steady yourself, the nausea fading away just as quickly as it came on.

“Awe (y/n)…you didn’t have to come if you’re sick, you know,” she says, her brow furrowing as she continues to rub circles over your back.

“I’m not…I’m not sick,” you reply, thumbing at your eyes a little, “I mean, I’ve been feeling a little nauseated in the mornings lately, but this is the first time I’ve actually thrown up…”

She squints at you, looking you up and down as you squirm under her gaze. “(y/n)…when was the last time you had your period?”

“Why are you asking me that?” you shoot back instinctively.

“Well,” she starts, “ _Lady Reid_ …what does ‘I’ve been feeling a little nauseated in the mornings lately’ sound like to _you?_ ”

And you freeze, blinking back at her as you think back over the past few weeks, the past month, the past two. Your eyes widen as it finally dawns on you, and you’d think the situation was a little comical if you weren’t so afraid. “I-it’s been like…two months I think? I don’t know, I kinda stopped paying attention after…after, um…”

“Never mind that,” Penelope says once it becomes clear that you aren’t going to continue, “Now here’s what we’re gonna do - we’re gonna go out there and eat breakfast, then I’m taking you straight to the pharmacy so we can find out whether or not you and Boy Wonder are expecting a baby genius!”

You think back to the boxes and boxes of pregnancy tests sitting unused under the bathroom sink in your apartment. “Penelope, I have -” you start, trying to let her know there’s no need to buy a new one -

“No arguments!” she interrupts you, pulling you to your feet and practically dragging you back to your table and sitting you down in front of your food. The smell of peppers almost makes you go green a second time, but Penelope is quick to call the waiter back over and ask him to box it up for her, ordering a bowl of oatmeal instead.

She chatters excitedly about the idea of you and Spencer having a baby throughout the rest of the meal - you nod at the right moments, but you’re not really listening to her. _There’s no way_ , you think despite all the mounting evidence, _I just_ can’t _be pregnant…can I?_

…

You ask Penelope if you can take the test at her apartment instead of yours - she’s so excited that she doesn’t even question it, just ushers you into her convertible and chatters as she drives. The truth is you’re too afraid to take it at home - logically you know it won’t make a difference, but you just don’t want to take it in the same bathroom where you’ve been faced with so many negatives before. 

You follow Penelope up the stairs in a daze, trembling with anticipation as the moment of truth draws closer and closer. She tries to follow you into the bathroom and it jolts you back to your sense - it takes a little bit of light shoving and an _I’ll let you in right after I’m done, I promise!_ , but you end up in there alone eventually. And then you’re staring down a little plastic stick again - in the back of your mind you _knew_ getting pregnant was still a possibility, but it really felt like it would never happen. 

You have half a mind not to take it, but you push the feeling aside and do it anyway, clicking the cap back on when you’re done and placing the plastic stick face down on the counter top just like every time before. You let Penelope back in and she waits with you, sensing the tension and talking about other things in an effort to distract you - it doesn’t work, but you appreciate the thought. All too soon, the time comes to flip it over, to see whether or not there’s a baby growing inside of you. You squeeze your eyes shut and flip it one swift motion, letting out shaky exhales as you try to convince yourself to look -

Penelope squeals and pulls you into a hug before you get the chance, practically jumping up and down in her unbridled excitement. “Penelope! Penelope, wait! I didn’t see it, I didn’t see it!” you yelp because even though her response obviously betrays the results, there’s a part of you that’s still afraid. That still won’t believe it until you know for sure that it’s true.

“Oh!” she exclaims, holding her breath as she freezes and waits for you to look, practically vibrating with anticipation. 

The lines are pink, and there are two of them. The lines are pink, and you don’t think you’ve ever been so happy in your life. You reach over to pick up the little piece of plastic that’s bringing you so much joy with shaking hands, flipping it over and over, looking again and again just to make sure your eyes aren’t betraying you. 

And then it’s _you_ who’s jumping for joy, tears of happiness trailing down your face as you wrap your arms around Penelope, tucking your face into the crook of her neck and damn-near sobbing as a million different emotions flood through you. “Congratulations!” she says, and you start crying for real because she’s congratulating on the pregnancy you were afraid you’d never get to have.

…

You run by the shops on the way home to pick up something to tell Spencer, spend almost an hour pacing up and down the aisles as you try to find something that feels right. And then you stumble upon a spool of purple ribbon and you know what you want to do. You pick up tissue paper and a little box - it’s nothing complicated, but you know it’ll be perfect.

You’re sitting on the couch when he finally makes it home, bumbling through the door and rubbing the grogginess out of his eyes as he hangs up his satchel and his coat. He leans over the back of the couch and drapes his arms over you, humming contentedly as he kisses your cheek because he can’t quite reach your lips. “How was the case?” you ask him, threading your fingers through his messy hair and chucking as his stubbly cheeks brush against yours.

“Mmm…,” he grumbles and you bite back a grin. “ _Long_ ,” he settles on in the end, still not noticing the little box resting in your lap through his bleary eyes.

You shift in your seat, hoping the movement will direct his attention in the right direction. It works - he raises his eyebrows and trails a long finger over the box, mumbling, “What’s this?” into your neck as you try to hold back your excitement for the sake of the surprise.

“Why don’t you come sit next to me and find out?” you tease, tilting your head up to peck him on the lips as he pouts. He circles around the couch and plops down next to you, tucking himself into your side and glancing between you and the box as you press it into his hands.

“Is this for me?” he mumbles, leaning his head on your shoulder and peering up at you through his lashes. 

You grin and nod in response, gesturing for him to take it and whispering, “Open it,” with a smile.

He does, delicately untying the ribbon and folding it before setting it aside, carefully easing the lid up off of the box, furrowing his brow and digging through the layers of tissue paper until -

He jolts upright and gasps, glancing rapidly between you and the little stick as if he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. Your face splits into a huge grin as his eyebrows creep up higher and higher and his mouth opens and closes as he tries to figure out what to say. “…Really?” he finally settles on with a voice that’s impossibly small, swallowing nervously as he waits for your response.

You just start nodding, another round of tears building in your eyes as you reply, “Yeah, really. I’m pregnant, Spencer. We’re having a baby.”

He just keeps staring at you for a second, but then his eyes dip down to your belly and the way your hand is resting over it. His breath hitches as he lifts a trembling hand to join yours, his palm a comforting warmth as he repeats, “We’re having a baby.”

“Yeah,” you say with a voice wet with happy tears, “Yeah, we are.”

And he pulls you into his arms, alternating between kissing you and staring down at your midsection with amazement and wonder and joy. “We’re having a baby!” he repeats for the second time, his voice thick with emotion and his eyes watery. 

_Yes we are_ , you think as you lean into his embrace, _Yes we are._


End file.
